


"Unbridled and borderline inexperienced"

by Quente



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-11 08:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13520565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quente/pseuds/Quente
Summary: Oliver spent a few weeks getting to know Elio, but Armie spent more than a year getting to know Timmy.The title was taken from a quotation from Gay Times Magazine. The quote (in the fic) is exact.





	1. Chapter 1

"Is Timothée a good kisser?"

The question wasn't a surprising one, given that Gay Times Magazine was asking. Armie paused, looked at the well-clad guy asking, and considered his answer. He was asking about Timothée, and not Elio -- and honestly, no matter what Armie thought of Timmy, it wasn't the business of the rest of the world. 

“We never actually kissed outside of rehearsals and making the movie, so I couldn’t tell you what Timmy actually kisses like,” Armie replied, giving his best charming smile. “But I can tell you that Elio as a kisser is so much about sort of unbridled and borderline inexperienced passion. Not Timmy, but it’s very much Elio. I’m sure Timmy is a better kisser than Elio.” 

Let them think about that one for a moment. Armie kept the smile plastered to his face, wondering whether he’d ask about the crotch-grabbing scene next. That was Armie’s second least favorite question, next to the ones that implied he wasn’t professional about his relationship with Timothée. 

But luckily not. Armie let his mouth go on autopilot to answer the usual questions, even while his eyes drifted over to Timothée, who was sipping water and watching him with a peculiar expression on his face.

One of Armie’s most and least favorite things about Timothée was his expressiveness. He was honest to a fault, or at least his face was, and every time he felt something it appeared in a wave of emotion across his features immediately. Right now it looked like a combination of relief and guilt and chagrin, or maybe a little outrage. Was Timothée that insulted by Armie’s honest assessment of Elio’s kissing?

~

The punch to Armie’s shoulder came later, when they were sitting side-by-side on an anonymous conference room’s much used couch, waiting for the next interview. 

“So, I kiss pretty badly, do I,” Timothée said, his nose wrinkling and his eyes narrowing, punching Armie again. They’d been kissing forever, by that point. Six, seven, eight weeks of making out, more or less, but very much on set. They hugged, off set. But the lines were pretty clear, especially with Elizabeth there with them during some of the filming. 

How to respond. Armie decided to meet honesty with honesty. “No -- I mean -- I felt that it was a character choice. All tongue and no finesse, just like Elio. Look how bad he was at sex with Marzia --” Armie replied, only to rock sideways from another punch. “Hey now, I needed that arm.”

“It wasn’t a character choice!” Now Timothée was laughing, covering his face with his hand, where the blush crept out from beneath his fingers. “That’s honestly just how I kiss. What’s your problem with it? I thought I was being all suave.”

Armie took a deep breath, turning a little pink around the edges too. Maybe the issue lay deep in characterization, in the basic premise of the whole thing. The fact was, it was a story about an older man and a younger man, and there they were -- an older man and a younger man, and no matter how many times Timothée had stepped around the block with Lourdes or whomever, it was probably a whole lot less than Armie had stepped out with anyone, man or woman.

Not only that, but there was the issue of Italian and American machismo, of bisexuality, of two men being equals and neither submitting to the other… no gender politics here to prescribe roles.

“Hey. Armie. Armie.” Timmy’s soft fingers slid around to touch the back of his neck in a gentle rub. “I sent your brain flying off somewhere with that, didn’t I? You don’t have to lie to me. I can go practice my technique on a pillow.” Timothée was laughing again, eyes bright despite his flushed cheeks.

“I think… I think that when Elio climbs over Oliver when they kiss, and Oliver pushes him back to the ground...it’s because he’s feeling overwhelmed. He’s used to being the aggressor, and he doesn’t have a road map for how to respond when a kid who is that sick in love just … tries to climb on top of him.” Armie let out a breath. “Part of the emotional journey is being overwhelmed, uncomfortable, traveling unfamiliar territory.”

“Do you think it was love at first sight for them? Attraction that could carry them past one guy being terrible at kissing?” Timothée asked, his eyes bold on Armie’s face.

Armie reached over to slide his fingers into Timothée’s curls, tousling up that hair. “Yeah, I think those two fell hard in love, and Oliver never minded how Elio kissed.”

The next expression on Timothée’s face looked bittersweet, and Armie found his eyes caught by it, his emotions suddenly stuck somewhere. Tripping over something unsaid.

“What?” Armie asked.

“Nothin’.” Timothée’s limber mouth twisted into a grin again.

~

They were at the Variety press conference, and Michael was on a far chair, and Armie was next to his man-crush (Luca) on a couch, with Timothée on the other side of him. It was a nice little sandwich, and Armie could feel the brooding pulses of intelligence from Luca on one side mitigated by the lightness and frenetic energy of Timmy on the other.

It was still new. They hadn’t fallen into a patter yet, where they’d try to draw the few weeks of shooting out into something that could span an hour of anecdotes. But at some point, when Luca was discussing the rain, and the mud, and Mukdeeprom inventing light out of shadow, Armie turned his head.

There, staring at him with an intent gaze, lips slightly parted as if answering an unspoken question, was Timothée. 

Looking so very...Armie was uncomfortable putting a name on it, so he turned away.

Truth was, Armie had only seen their movie once. He’d hated his own acting the entire time. But Timothée -- the boy outclassed him by his very openness. The movie worked because of Timmy, and Armie was the larger-than-life faker whose overacting was perfectly contextualized by Luca as a wrinkle of Oliver’s character …

Armie felt a tiny kick and quirked an eyebrow at Timmy. “What?” he mouthed.

“Get out of your head,” Timothée mouthed back, winking. 

~

The spread was always fresh, organic, small-farm, local, no-GMO. Armie stared at the thinly sliced meats and fruits and wanted. A fucking. Burger. 

They were somewhere, New York, Boston, Miami. There was a room where they sat while people paraded in front of them. Variety, Esquire, Hollywood Reporter, New York Times, Boston Globe, LA Times. E-Online. MTV.

The stories were routine by now, but what was new was how increasingly responsive Timothée was to Armie’s every glance, hint, tease, tee-up for a tale. That talented kid, taking Armie’s half-thought-out ideas and running with them with all his enthusiasm, leaving a trail of pistachio shells behind.

Or no, Armie admitted to himself. He’d known how responsive Timothée was. 

It made him wonder about the kissing, though. 

The way Timothée watched him, wide-eyed and intent, drinking Armie in like he was the arbiter of all knowledge… it could go to Armie’s head if he’d let it. He’d rather not let it.

But the kissing. Armie wondered if maybe Timothée was teachable. If maybe, just like how responsive he was as an acting partner, he could take a few cues and make damned sure that Armie liked just about everything Timothée could give back.

“What?” Timothée asked, looking up from his phone. “You look hungry. Are you hungry? Do I need to text Liz to bring you snacks?”

~

There were actual rabbits hopping around. Armie was finally no longer mentioned in awards show conversations, thank god, and he could be with his family again. His son was in a little outfit with smocking, and Armie wondered how old his son would be when he finally dug in his heels and insisted on a t-shirt and jeans. Maybe five. Four. But right now, Ford was poking a slow-moving bunny in the nose and giggling at the way it wrinkled its nose.

The wrinkled nose reminded Armie of Timothée when he was feeling particularly displeased with himself. 

Timothée came and Timothée went, jetting to movie shoots with small parts and large ones, and this last time when he’d come back to Armie and Liz after a few weeks with Saoirse Ronan, he’d had a gleam in his eye like he’d learned some things.

Then they’d had a strange conversation, Armie and Timothée. One that went like this:

“So my kissing is better.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Saoirse told me just what you did -- too much tongue, not enough teasing.”

“I don’t think I put it quite that way.”

“So she taught me how to kiss to really turn someone on.”

Armie remembered telling himself to breathe through the unexpected yet powerful whump of feeling that punched his gut.

“That’s good. Did it work?” Armie felt he’d nailed the neutral older brother tone perfectly.

Timmy was silent for a moment, looking at Armie. Then, “If I asked Elizabeth’s permission could I show you?”

...A rabbit hopped over to Armie and peed on his sandal, and he blinked up from his reverie only to see his wife’s sly eyes nailing him to the poles of the little petting zoo enclosure.

“Quit moping and go drive your son’s new toy car. You’ll get to see him soon enough, you enormous adolescent.”

~

New York. 

“I got myself a new apartment,” Timothée said, his voice sounding strangely shy. His skin was golden-porcelain from the soft lights hidden somewhere deep inside an opulent bouquet of white flowers. “I don’t have roommates anymore, and it’s a loft -- at least two of you wide, not just one.” 

Armie’s nose was full of the scent of gardenias. Timothée’s eyes had white flecks deep in the dark irises, there was an empty glass of champagne in front of him, and Armie felt the stupidest poetic impulse to dive in -- to the champagne or Timmy, either one. He took another deep breath and felt...conflicted.

“Great, we should go see it, right Liz?” Armie looked at Elizabeth, sitting next to him at the banquet table of the whatever awards, only to see her cast her eyes heavenward.

“I’m busy tonight,” Elizabeth said, cradling her chin in her palm. “Go see it with Timmy. I need a face mask and about ten hours of sleep before tomorrow's thing.”

Wait. What?

Armie glanced from Timothée, who was studiously looking away, to Elizabeth, who looked long-suffering, and back, and nodded, twice. Whatever they’d discussed behind his back, it seemed like this was the moment they were going to spring their plan. 

It annoyed him to be treated like a child.

“Awww, he’s grumpy,” Timothée said, leaning over to give his beard a rub.

“Look at the old man, sad he’s been out-maneuvered,” Elizabeth mocked gleefully, rubbing the other cheek.

“What’s going on, guys?” Armie said.

“I think you know,” Elizabeth said, and leaned in to press her own beautifully scented self against his side. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

And Timothée’s face lit up with such joy that Armie couldn’t help but reluctantly smile.

~

The loft was pretty and so was Timothée, with his casual act and his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his slouching shoulders finally free from the suit jacket.

“So, we could watch movies again, like the old days,” Timmy said, his voice so careful and neutral that it nearly broke Armie’s heart. 

Armie took a few steps forward, divesting himself of his jacket, thanking god that Elizabeth rarely made him wear a bowtie, and bent to unlace his shoes. “I’m here for you, not movies,” he said, his voice steady.

By the time Armie glanced up, Timothée was just watching him, eyes wide. 

“Um,” Timothée said. “I honestly don’t know what to do now. This has just been my fantasy for the past six, eight months, and now Elizabeth basically said I could do whatever we both want, and I don’t know what we want.”

The insecurity from this gentle kid… Armie took the last few steps forward and gripped Timothée’s shoulders, folding him into an enormous body-long hug. Head to heart to heart to chest. It felt like a surge of the warmest tenderness, like that’s what he’d wanted all along.

“You know I love you, right?” Armie asked, and his fingers slid to Timothée’s chin, tipping it up the same distance he tipped up Elizabeth’s face.

“I love you too,” Timothée said immediately, eyes glancing guiltily up from Armie’s lips to his eyes.

“Then let’s do this because we love each other.”

~

The ridiculous part was that Armie could immediately tell the difference between Timmy at 19 and Timmy at 22. Timothée had gotten thin for a part, but filled out again after that. He had a little more muscle from working out for another role, and Armie could swear his ass was less spare than it was before.

They made out for a long, long time, pressed close, Timmy lying on top of him in his nice pants and button-down shirt, setting the pace. 

Armie could tell he was trying his best to kiss carefully, hold back, be polite with his tongue...

But Armie didn’t need that any longer.

“Just kiss me like Elio would, Timmy. I can handle it. I always -- always liked how you kissed, it was just me that needed to change.”

Something indescribable changed in Timothée’s face then, and when he fell back into kissing, it was with an incoherent murmur of a noise that sounded like pure need.

~

In the morning they shared a guilty pleasure, a cigarette on the balcony. They’d gotten around to making love, and now Armie wondered whether the scorching looks they were sending each other over the shared cigarette were far too easy to decode.

Timothée leaned in and pressed lips against Armie’s neck, his ear, his cheek.

“I was worried about this. I can’t get enough of you now.”

“Well luckily you have me,” Armie said, his heart feeling so, so full.

~

When he pulled out his phone to text Elizabeth his ETA, he saw she’d already sent him a message: a peach emoji, an eggplant, and a question mark.

Timothée saw it and laughed so hard he fell off his folding chair.

“Tell her we’re getting there,” he said, covering his face with both hands. “But it’s been slow.”


	2. A peach emoji, an eggplant, and a question mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Eva_Marlowe, and whoever else wanted to see the smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This part is all extra and super self-indulgent fluff so read at your own risk.)

“Do you remember,” Timothée asked, reaching for Armie’s shirt and beginning the long work of unbuttoning it all. “Do you remember lying there naked with my dick basically in your face, because we’d just acted out sixty-nining, and they were dripping raw egg white on your chest to make it look like come...and how it basically blew away any awkwardness we had with each other?”

“No offense,” Armie said, his fingers a little farther along on Timmy’s shirt, “but lying there and smelling sweat and raw egg and those lavender-ironed sheets and the key grip’s cologne and -- remember that AD who always smoked the Camels? My nose was full of her smell the whole time… It might have blown away any awkwardness, but it was not sexy. It was one of the most inclusive orgies I’ve ever been a part of. You, me, wardrobe, makeup, Sayombhu, Luca…”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Timothée clambered to straddle Armie’s legs, getting into a better position to push off his shirt, a familiar position. “You’ve been part of other orgies?”

Armie looked up, studying him, and shrugged. “Once I hit sixteen, people started to notice me.” And his first sexual fantasy was of Leonardo DiCaprio, after all. 

Timothée sighed, dipping his chin and looking a little shy again. Armie couldn’t help the smile. He divested Timothée of his shirt and looked at his body for a moment, running fingers down the lean lines of his chest to the little soft bump of belly that had thankfully returned after his time on Beautiful Boy.

“Timothée,” Armie said, hands sliding down to cup hips that shouldn’t be as familiar as they felt. He smirked. “Do you know how happy I am we slept together?”

That got Timothée laughing, the ridiculous laugh that was abandoned and unselfconsciously donkey-like, and Armie glanced up to notice that Timothée was staring at Armie’s mouth again.

“What’s your fixation with my mouth? Do you really want to kiss me that much?” Armie ran a finger along the bow of Timothée’s lip, smiling at the way he smiled back at him.

“Yeah,” Timothée said. “For months, months and months, ever since we stopped kissing each other on set.”

That got Armie remembering what it was like to be in his early 20s. Ah right -- that insatiability. “Then kiss me.”

This part, lip to lip and tongue to tongue, was like a direct line to Armie’s heart, blowing it all open, all over again. It was so damned sweet, no less because Armie knew all about Timothée now -- knew about his first sex, knew about his latest sex (it was with Armie), knew that he’d never really been in love (until Armie), knew that he’d never been fucked before.

But he was about to be fucked, by Armie. It was why they were there, in Timothée’s new apartment.

(The one that was furnished in one crazy afternoon by Elizabeth’s hand.

“We’ll make sure your sheets aren’t white,” she snorted, piling up dark blue cotton on the shop’s counter. “Because who knows when you’ll wash them.”

“Hey,” Timmy laughed, but leaned over to kiss her cheek all the same. He loved being cared for by Elizabeth; Armie loved watching Elizabeth take care of him, of them both. She was beautiful when focused so hard on the fragile things around her that needed nurture.)

“So how do we do this,” Timothée said, his voice dropping to a mumble, breaking away and unbuttoning his pants. 

~

A week later, whispering about it while making love to his wife, Armie skipped over the awkward parts. “I got him all ready and open for me,” he said to her, holding her hips still to keep her from sinking down. He knew how wild she could get, being teased, just like that. “I made him wait for me, toyed with him for a long, long time with my fingers and tongue. But he could take every inch of me when I finally --” he pushed Elizabeth slowly down onto him, kissing the gasp out of her mouth “--Finally fucked him.”

~

\-- and pushing slowly into Timothée, feeling the sweat on his chest brush against the overheated plane of Timmy’s back, Armie gripped slender fingers in his hand and cried out at the tightness he slid into.

“Wait,” Timothée panted, and Armie did, sliding a hand beneath them both, getting it around Timothée and giving him an encouraging squeeze. “I...yeah, go.”

“Do you feel for Elio now?”

“Yeah, it was really...fuckin’ weird for a moment there.” Timmy was trembling, his dick was softening, so Armie used his most important sex organ.

(His brain.)

“Oh Timmy...Timmy Timmy.” Whispering into his ear, licking the edge, stroking him slowly while he held their hips still and waited. “I’ve wanted you since watching you play piano, knowing somehow it was all for me. I used to fixate on your fingers and how you touched things. I wanted your hands all over me, I wanted you to keep looking at me with those dark eyes, I just wanted to do this to you -- I wanted to fuck you and take you and make you mine --”

Timothée groaned, then, and shifted, and Armie felt himself slide in and bottom out. 

Then they both began to move, and there was no talking for a long while.

~

“And?” Elizabeth asked him, when she lay pink and flushed in a pile of cool white silk next to him. “Did anal ever get good for him?”

“I came while fucking him. Then I...do you really want to know?”

“Of course. Every detail.”

“I blew him, but I kept my fingers up inside of him, making sure he felt me up there when he came. He cursed me out for a long time afterwards, made me massage his back. He’s a princess when he wants to be.”

“I can believe it,” Elizabeth laughed, running her finger down Armie’s furry cheek affectionately. “My two princesses. And me, the only queen.”

“Do you ever want us both at once?”

“Hmm, that’s a lot of sweaty boys to handle. I’ll think about it, though.”

~

Cuddled up, sensing Timothée's hunger for the smooth rub of skin against skin, Armie tucked his nose into Timothée’s soft hair.

“There was this moment on the press tour when your hair got long and you began to look like a fucking Rosetti painting,” Armie said, kissing what he could of Timothée’s forehead through his hair.

“My ass actually aches, you jerk,” Timothée complained contentedly, voice muffled against Armie’s chest. "I think your dick is too big for anal. I'm never letting you -- hey, can you keep that up?" 

Armie was trailing his fingers down Timothée’s back, massaging him gently, working over the gluteal muscles, up the sides of his spine. "Yes, yes," Armie said. "Next time you can take it all out on me."

He felt the soft sigh against his skin and kept his fingers going.

“You okay?”

“Me okay.” Timothée hesitated, and then shook his head. “I think I'm worried about everything.”

“Hey. We’re smart enough to work this out -- I’m not a conflicted graduate student. I want you, I know I want you. And my wife is an angel.”

Timothée curled closer. “She is. I’ll have to add more to my thank-you speech next time.”

“‘Thanks for letting me crawl on Armie. Thanks for letting me tongue-wrestle him. Thanks for letting me take his proportional cock up my tight --’”

Timothée attacked Armie’s sides with his fingers, tickling hard. “Okay that sounded like you’ve been practicing it a little too long,” he snickered.

“Maybe,” Armie said, and smiled against Timmy’s hair.

In the morning they would part ways, Armie back home, Timothée off to a meeting with his agent. They had a trip to Europe coming up, and they’d get into all kinds of shenanigans there, Armie knew. 

But until then, he’d hold this in his head, these ridiculously perfect moments: The way they felt fucking. The way they felt being in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me in this filth [over at Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nothing2fic).


End file.
